


Death Machine

by huntedjunker



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Poisoning, Psychological Torture, Torture, Trapped, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2019-03-30 09:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13949007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huntedjunker/pseuds/huntedjunker
Summary: Junkrat is hooked up to a death machine.A story challenge controlled by readers via asks in tumblr at the time.If 5 people send them an “O” first, they can go free.If 5 people send them an “X” first, they’re dead. The choice is yours~





	1. Chapter 1

There was no sign he had company in the dark chamber – the light from the overhead ceiling lamp had cast a strong circle that enveloped him, the strange device that restrained the junker, and a further border that almost reached the walls. There was no furniture, nothing on the walls or floor, other than the aforementioned object that had been bolted fast to the floor, just off-centre.

Encased in an arrangement of worn metal pipes, there were two upright gas canisters; one coloured _green_ , one _red_ , the powdered-paint peeling off in flakes to reveal the rusted metal underneath. Set in front of the two canisters, fixed to a bar, was another detail Junkrat had recognised – a _flow-meter_ , the glass display showing the levels of oxygen and another component, in percentages and other numbers. In spite of the old metal, the cracked screen, the confusing tangle of wires that connected the surgical instruments to the meter; the machine was an elaborate one, underneath it’s ugly, deceptive skin.

The junker had regained consciousness only seconds ago, on the concrete floor – the unfamiliar environment had driven the groggy anarchist to his feet instantly, self-preservation kicked into overdrive. In his panic, Junkrat had nearly lost his balance when he’d stumbled back from the machine – discovering that his mobility had been restricted in two ways. His wrists bound behind his back, secured with what he guessed to be modified handcuffs or something of the like, considering it had to accommodate the joint of his synthetic arm; a length of chain hanged loose from his wrists to pool on the floor, the other end affixed with a U-bolt to another hoop that circled the machine.  
After testing the chain, Rat had determined it’s length only allowed him to get no further than five feet from the device in any direction when stretched taut, crouched, shorter if he had tried to stand upright. Standing in front of the flow meter granted the chain enough slack to allow him to resume a better stance, however his posture remained forced into a hunched position he had never been used to for long periods.

Imprisoned, shackled by an unknown _enemy_ or enemies, that wasn’t the worst of it – the humiliation and shock of waking up chained, had dissolved in the wake of the horror from the surgical mask fixed to his face.

The straps were stiff, cutting into his scalp and the back of his head, the tight seal of the mask bruising where the edge pressed into the planes of his face and the bridge of his nose. Although the mask was not of the transparent variety, Rat could tell that the inside had started to fog up from the rush of his damp breath, the mask distinctly warmer against his flushed skin.

On one side of the mask, a red segmented tube joined it’s paired canister – the other side, the green tubing – a thinner clear vacuum tube running alongside it. A steady stream of cold, fresh air filled the confines of the mask; the concentrated oxygen making him feel giddy and on high alert, a little light-headed. The gas piping also restricted his range of motion, keeping the junker to face the machine dead-on - unable to twist all the way to turn his back on it, the tubing pulling his head forward and down whenever he tried to pull away.

Rat’s recovery from his drugged state had been fast; disturbed by he knew not, checking himself for any evidence of torture or other damage was forgotten, the junker preoccupied with examining the sequence of memories that led up to the here and now, screening for any fragments of anything remotely suspicious. Nothing came of it: his activity up to now were lost, his memory riddled not with holes but entire windows of time gone. The heat from the light was bearing down on him, adding to his disorientation, beads of perspiration tracking through the thick layer of soot that coated his skin.

The pump of blood a roar in his ears, his breath coming out in short bursts and resonating in the mask, Rat’s body temperature suddenly plummeted in fear, a wave of cold flooding his senses. After leaning in for a better look to study the contraption, a tiny label on the red gas canister explained the contents –

– rat poison.

Strychnine.


	2. XX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> X.

Junkrat and the grinning skull printed on the gas cylinder exchanged penetrating stares – speechless, motionless, Junkrat was like an empty shell. Devoid of emotion or thought, the static image of the iconic poison had been flash-burned deep. The gentle tugs of the tubing, drawing the mask’s suction firmer with every subtle movement of his head, were vague recollections of his predicament, blurry at the edges of his mental tunnel-vision. Inclining his head to one side, such as to look over his shoulder, or lift his chin, the tubes pulled his head back down to the original position.

It was too much to accept, to comprehend _exactly_ what he had done to deserve this – whom he had wronged (not a day went by when Junkrat hadn’t made mistakes) that possessed the _sick_ sense of humour and patience to ensnare Junkrat like this. Anger lent him a surge of renewed energy, the distraught prisoner desperate to turn the tables and get out of here alive instead of wasting time.

Whoever had brought him here, whoever had designed and orchestrated this device, hadn’t left any stone unturned – the chain links were soldered, _not_ pinched shut – the pipes were _not_ secured with duct tape, and the whole machine was apparently operated remotely, fed through an unidentified power-source. Rat understood this as he hadn’t yet tripped over any wayward power cables on his repeated trips circling the death machine, his movements cautious at first, the junker going slow, choosing his steps carefully; before true panic had begun to sink it’s teeth into him.

His nervous pacing escalated to periods where he was either frozen in place, lacing his numb fingers together behind his back, a whirlpool of thoughts drowning all else: next to excitable yanks on his restraints, Rat bending low at the waist with all his weight, to pull backwards, just to stumble forward and sway there, panting, the tubes and chain held fast.

The uninterrupted flow of pure oxygen, the removal of the carbon monoxide drawn through the thin vacuum tubing, continued to hinder his attempts on escape, an occasional dizzy spell leaving him trembling, too fearful to move.

A loud ‘click’ hooked Rat’s attention. Paused in the midst of his restless pacing, the insides of his throat burning from the deep intakes of breath that dried his mouth out. Licking his lips feverishly, swallowing, Rat’s gaze had rested on something he hadn’t noticed. Just below the flow-meter, was a flip-style timer. Again, colour-coded to match the canisters – there was no way he could convince himself they held another purpose. Both had read _0/5._

Now, the _red_ counted 2/5.

The rules of the game were as of yet unknown. _Rat did not care_ \- did _not_ stop to think and re-organize his mind, to call out to anybody who may have been watching and listening the whole time.

Crying out, his heart-wrenching whine muffled by the surgical mask, the junker leaned back once more, twisting his head to repeatedly push the muzzle of the mask into his shoulder frantically, rolling his shoulder up in the combined effort to try and dislodge the mask, weaken the straps or perhaps create a gap to allow unadulterated airflow inside.


End file.
